Serendipity
by Espiritu
Summary: Sometimes dark clouds can have silver linings. Companion story to Happenstance from Shep's POV. Sheppard McKay friendship. COMPLETE
1. Taking Fire

Title: Serendipity  
Author: Espiritu  
Rating: T  
Category: Drama, Angst, Hurt/Comfort  
Spoilers: Season One. Set sometime during Season Two after Siege III and before Runner.  
Summary: Sometimes dark clouds can have silver linings. Companion story to Happenstance from Shep's POV. Sheppard/McKay friendship.  
Author Notes: Sheppard was insistent that he get to tell his side of the story and not rely solely on McKay to keep all the facts straight.  
Disclaimer: Still don't own them. Never will. Only borrowing them for fun, not profit. 

Serendipity

Chapter 1: Taking Fire

I knew I should have listened to the little voice inside my head. The voice that insisted it was a bad idea. That little voice had never steered me wrong over the years, yet I had chosen to stupidly ignore it this time. Instead I decided to listen more to the insistent voice outside my head. The loud, cranky, generally obnoxious one that belonged to Rodney McKay. Yeah, that had been a bad idea. A real doozy of a mistake that I was now regretting.

Well, live and learn. I had learned--the hard way. It was a toss up though as to whether I would live. The odds didn't look good from where I stood or from actually where I lay, as the case might be. Profusely bleeding gunshot wounds didn't usually lend themselves to favorable survival odds.

It was supposed to have been a routine mission. Fly to an uninhabited planet, peruse some crumbling ruins of an Ancient outpost, take some scanner readings, collect enough Ancient gizmos to keep McKay happy, and head back home. That had been the plan. But you know what they say about the best laid plans. You guessed it; fate stepped in once again and flipped us the bird. M5J-346 was not only unexpectedly populated, some of its residents decided to throw us a little surprise welcoming party. Their form of hospitality made our encounter with the Genii seem warm and fuzzy in comparison. It would be nice for once to come across friendly and sociable natives instead of hostile insurgents. It seemed we never did catch a break in this galaxy. Not even once that I could ever recall. Trust me, I have a long memory, especially where my errors in judgment are concerned.

Our team was down two members with Teyla out on medical leave with a torn Achilles tendon incurred during a strenuous sparring session and a Wraith enzyme-toked Ford off on the run to who knows where. I had been ready to assign two marines temporarily to our team for the mission until McKay convinced me it wasn't necessary. I know I should have ignored his ranting like I usually did, but I had just been too tired this morning to argue with him. Last night had been a sleepless one, plagued by persistent dreams of the recent siege. I figured they would pass in time; thus, I had managed so far to finagle my way out of a couch trip with Heightmeyer. But memories of what almost happened and guilt over those who died still kept me up sometimes at night, leaving me drained and worn out the next day. Needless to say this morning, I was not at my best. It's the reason I took the lazy way out and let McKay talk me out of having a military force join us. Figuring the planet was barren except for some abandoned outpost, I let my guard down and went against my better judgment. But lack of sleep does impair the thought processes I am told. Lame excuse I know, so shoot me. Oh wait, that pissed off local guy already did.

Yeah, the son-of-a-bitch took a pot shot at McKay who just couldn't seem to get out of the way fast enough. So I did the only thing I could do under the circumstances to save Rodney's life. I dove into the line of fire and took the bullet. Believe me, that wasn't my original plan. But as I said earlier, plans have a way of getting fucked up, especially when unexpected situations arise. I was trying to simply push McKay out of harm's way, but fate stepped in and changed the outcome. Not for the best either. Getting shot was not on my list of things to do today. The bullet impact took me by surprise. I didn't realize at first I had been hit until I slammed into the ground and felt a hot, molten pain spread throughout my side and chest.

Shit! This was so not good. Just my rotten luck for the slug to hit me in my exposed side, as I was shoving McKay aside. Whoever the engineers were who designed these tactical vests obviously did not feel the need to protect a soldier's ribcage. Guess they thought bad guys only aimed for the chest or back. Yeah, those designers used a lot of forethought on how we military types are apt to take fire. Damn desk jockeys. Maybe if they were forced to wear their own creations under hostile conditions instead of in a controlled test lab environment, they might devise a better way to protect our hides.

But I digress. Pain can do that to you, make your thoughts either pointlessly wander or zero in on the most miniscule details. Like now. As I lay on the ground, still in shock as the first tendrils of pain made themselves known, bits and pieces of the events leading to this moment stood out foremost in my mind. They say your entire life flashes before you when you're faced with imminent death. Not so. What you see is everything that is happening right now, right here in perfect Technicolor clarity.

As he leaned over my fallen body, McKay's shocked and worried face stood out vividly in sharp contrast to the surrounding backdrop of trees, sky, and stone that blurred into a hazy reality. For a split second, the sound of his voice asking me if I were all right seemed muted and distant, the sounds fading into the background as my mind tried to comprehend what had just happened. It was as if my ears were momentarily filled with white noise that cancelled out all incoming sounds. But the sight of him tearing frantically at my vest was crystal clear, his blue eyes filled with horror and dread as he saw the wound and the blood pooling under my side. It took me a moment to understand what he was saying as I watched his mouth move, because I was unable to hear at first the words he was uttering. I felt him grab my shoulder, gripping it tightly as he continued to speak. The buzzing sound finally receded until I was finally able to hear what he was saying.

"Colonel! Stay with me now! You're going to be fine." McKay tried to reassure me, but his panic-stricken eyes told a different story.

Gasping for breath, I managed to voice a weak reply. "You never could lie worth a damn, McKay."

"How would you know? Are you the self-proclaimed master in the fine art of fibbing? On second thought, yes, I think it's safe to assume it's a talent you must use frequently to talk your way out of all the trouble you seem to get yourself into." He ranted as he dug hurriedly through his vest pockets, pulling out some field dressings.

"Don't...go looking...for trouble. Just seems to find me." I panted as I struggled to get the words out. My voice sounded raspy and thick even to my ears.

"You got that right. Trouble is drawn to you like a moth to the flame, Colonel." McKay shot back as he opened a packet of bandages.

Damn, why was it so hard to breathe? It shouldn't be so hard to get air. Breathing is something I did every day. Had been doing so for years without much difficulty in fact. Yet, now my lungs felt like they were sucking in a fiery liquid instead of life-giving oxygen. Every intake of breath was another torturous attempt to survive just a little longer. The pain, which began as a dull throbbing sensation, now stabbed insistently through my chest, pulsing in time to the blood that seeped out between my fingers as I grasped my side in a futile attempt to stop its flow. Oh crap! This was bad. This was no fucking good.

McKay pried my hand away so he could cut open my shirt. I tried not to flinch as he wiped up some of the blood to get a closer look at the entry hole scored by the bullet before he slapped a pressure bandage over the jagged wound. I gritted my teeth against the pain as I struggled to sit up. Lying here in the dirt was not an option. I needed to get up so we could get moving back to the jumper. Who knew if there were any more hostile natives out there waiting for their chance to finish what their buddies started? I, for one, did not intend to stick around to find out how many of them were out there. There wasn't much cover amid the ruins of the Ancient outpost. To stay here any length of time would simply make us sitting ducks waiting to get picked off by the next available hunter. That was not my idea of good time. Maybe it was for the hunters, but definitely not for the ducks.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" McKay shouted at me as I attempted to get up.

I could tell his outburst was more a result of concern and fear rather than true anger. His voice always raised up an octave or two when he was worried, and right now his tone bordered on shrill. I shrugged off his attempt to restrain me as I rolled to my knees and braced my arm against his shoulder as I fought to regain my feet. Foolish idea, I know. But really, what choice did I have? How else would we get back to the puddle jumper in order to make our escape from this not-so-friendly world? There was no way McKay would be able to carry me all that way. Not a chance.

I had parked the jumper about a mile from the ruins in a nice grassy field that had proved to be an ideal landing site. At the time, a brisk hike through the woods to get to our objective seemed like a great way to explore the planet a little better while getting some exercise in the fresh air. Replaying the route we took earlier to get here in my head though, all I could see were the problems that same distance now would cause. So much for hindsight. No crying over spilt milk or spilt blood, as it so happened to be in my current situation. So despite McKay's loud protests, I decided to get myself moving under my own power. I only made it to a semi-crouching position before my vision suddenly grayed and my equilibrium went into a violent tailspin. As my knees buckled and I began to collapse, McKay caught me from behind and eased me down behind a crumbled stone wall.

"Damn pigheaded fool! Are you trying to meet your maker that much sooner, Colonel? What the hell are you thinking in that stubborn head of yours? You are in no shape to just walk out of here on your own." His blue eyes now blazed with fury along with apprehension.

"McKay, we have to get back to the ship. Right now I see you have two choices. You either leave me here and go retrieve the jumper yourself, or you help me up so we can get out of here before the natives get restless." I barely huffed the words out as a tight band of pain squeezed my chest.

"Right, like I can leave you here bleeding to death with the local welcoming party gunning for your sorry ass. You can be sure that fourth local yokel went running for reinforcements. You think they'll take one look at their fallen comrades and invite you to afternoon tea? More like they'll be out for more blood--ours! So no way in hell am I leaving you to your own devices while I go traipsing over hill and dale to retrieve the ship. We've sticking together." He stated emphatically.

"Okay then. You made your point. Let's go." I grimaced and sucked my breath, trying to ignore the pain that radiated out from my ribcage as I again made an attempt to stand. I suddenly felt lightheaded and knew I probably didn't look too good either since McKay's eyes went wide as he once again made a grab for me.

"John! Maybe you should just sit down for a moment before you collapse. Just lay back until you catch your breath, eh? Yes, I think that would be a wise move on your part." McKay stared at me intently with a face gone white with worry. He looked like I had died already.

"You called me by my first name. That's definitely dead man talk. You only do that if I'm seriously screwed." I told him. I didn't need Dr. Genius here to tell me that my chances of survival were pretty much non-existent.

"Don't be ridiculous. We're going to get out of here, and Beckett will patch you up in no time at all."

Yep. McKay so sucked at lying. His left eye would twitch, and he always stuck his chin out when he was nervous or trying to hide the truth. When McKay was putting his I'm-lying-through-my-teeth face on, he reminded me of a haughty aristocrat with an uncontrollable nervous tic. He tried to come across as condescending, but to me he just appeared comical. Sure enough, right now his chin was jutting out so far his head looked tilted backwards, and his eyelid was flicking a mile a minute. Judging by the facial readings of my trusty McKay-o-meter, things were so not good. I was royally screwed.

I rocked back and forth holding my side in an effort to ease the pain enough so I could concentrate on the best plan of action. It was hard to think as my mind grew fuzzy, and I could feel myself grow weaker from blood loss. Damn. I couldn't give in to the darkness yet. I needed to stay alert if we were to even have the slightest chance of reaching the jumper. A groan escaped my lips as I fought to keep the pain at bay and remain conscious.

"Colonel, you need to be still. If you keep moving, you'll start to bleed again. And quite frankly, I don't handle the sight of blood too well."

He didn't have to remind me of that fact. He looked a little green around the gills every time he had to check the bandage on my side. But I had to give McKay credit; he was holding up well in this latest trial by fire. The man could complain, whine, fuss, and throw hissy fits as a matter of course. But when the chips were down, he always came through. That's why he was on my team, and that's why I counted him among my closest friends.

"We can't stay here, McKay." I protested as I once again gave sitting up the old college try.

McKay was having none of it. He pushed my shoulders back against the rocky outcrop where we had temporarily taken cover. For the moment, I was too weak to argue and just rested a bit to catch my breath.

"I mean it, Colonel! If you start bleeding again, I am not sure I'll be able to stop it this time. Our field packs do not include surgical equipment or a staff to use them. I'm it for medical help for the time being, and I'm not trained to handle serious trauma. Where's Carson and his bag of Highland voodoo tricks when you need him?" He muttered in a pissed off tone as he rechecked the bandage covering the gunshot wound.

"You're doing fine, McKay. Just help me get back to the puddle jumper so I can get us home." I winced as he felt along my side and leaned my head back against the cool rock surface, hoping for a brief respite from the white-hot pain.

"I don't think you're in any condition to fly the jumper, let alone walk the whole way back to it." He shot back as if I were the village idiot.

I hissed back at him. "Fine. Get us back to the jumper, and I'll let you fly it."

"I don't think you really have a choice in the matter, Colonel. Considering the current circumstances, I am your only ticket home." He replied with that patented smug smirk of his.

"Just make sure you fly straight this time, McKay. I don't think I can any handle long, round-about detours right now."

Last time I let him fly the jumper, he meandered all over the place. The man had no concept of straight trajectories. I once had to show him his flight path on the cockpit view screen to convince him how badly he was off course. I'd love to see him try to fly in formation with a squadron. Now, that would be an amusing sight to behold. Yes, indeed.

"If you're referring to your famed Sheppardesque shortcuts, have no fear, Colonel. Have no fear indeed. Unlike you, I know how to plot the quickest route from point A to point B." I swear to God the man elevated snark into an art form.

I just nodded my head mutely. I couldn't muster the energy it took to voice a comeback to his snide remark. I know he was trying to get me to verbally spar with him as we usually did, but right now I didn't have it in me to match him quip for quip. It just fucking hurt too much. McKay was no fool and could tell the reason for my silence. Lucky for me he had paid attention to Beckett's first aid drills. Reaching back into his vest pockets, he extracted a field dose of morphine and injected me in the arm. I sighed in relief and nodded weakly in gratitude as I felt the drug flow through my veins and start to dull the edges of the pain. Thank God for that Scottish wonder and his insistence on stocking our field kits with happy drugs.

Feeling slightly loopy from the effects of the morphine, I didn't offer much help to McKay as he hoisted me up, hooked one arm around my waist, slung my arm around his shoulder, and got us under way. If I had been asked, I would have never, ever described our mode of locomotion as walking. Far from it. I was leaning heavily against McKay, causing us to stumble and lurch like two drunken fools after a weekend of carousing in the red light district. It wasn't an efficient means of travel, and by no stretch of the imagination could it be called graceful. But who was I to complain if our unorthodox method of movement got us that much closer to blowing this popsicle stand? I'd go along with whatever means possible to get us back to the jumper so we could get home.

I lost all sense of time as we staggered through the woods. We could have been on the move for minutes, for hours, or for days. It felt like an eternity. If there were a hell, I was certain I was going to it in a handbasket. I tried only to concentrate on putting one foot in front of the other as we stumbled along. But suddenly, I could go no farther. I slumped against McKay's shoulder as my strength gave out. My knees buckled, forcing him to ease me onto the ground.

"McKay...gotta stop." I somehow managed to rasp out.

"Colonel? We're almost there. Just hang on, we've not much further to go." McKay replied with a forced, tight-lipped smile.

Who did he think he was fooling? I knew that look. He knew we were in deep shit and didn't want to admit it. The man who made it a habit of pointing out all the things that could go wrong was suddenly trying to remain positive. The incongruity of that fact spoke volumes. If Mr. Chronically Pessimistic was trying to make light of the situation, I knew we were hopelessly screwed.

He put his hand against my shoulder as I painfully sucked in mouthfuls of air, panting like an overactive dog on a hot summer day. I could feel the sweat beading up on my face, leaving it clammy and slick to the touch. My vision grayed at the edges as my eyes glazed over from pain. I didn't think I could go on like this. It just wasn't in the cards. I finally was able to speak in a hoarse whisper.

"McKay. I'm not gonna make it. I can't go any further."

"Oh no you don't, Colonel. You are not, I repeat, not checking out of the party early. Oh, no. No. No. Don't even think it!" If I didn't know any better, I'd swear McKay looked like he was ready to slap me silly.

"And what, miss out on all this fun? Wouldn't dream of it normally, but my body's telling me it has other ideas on the matter." I was getting bone-weary and could barely find the strength to reply.

"Well, don't listen to it. It obviously doesn't know what it is talking about. I'm getting out of here, and you're coming with me. There'll be no further argument about it either. So save your breath, do us both a favor, and shut the hell up."

I decided to do even better than that. I let myself finally surrender to the encroaching darkness as I felt myself slide into oblivion. I sank deep, dark, and fast. My vision faded to black and for the time being, I knew no more.

The sound of a foreign tongue spoken in an irate voice filtered into the netherworld of my subconsciousness and called me back to the land of the living. Before my sluggish mind could comprehend where I was and who the hell was speaking, a sharp and unexpected explosion of pain rudely forced me into full awareness. Unable to fend off the sudden assault, I rolled into a fetal position in a vain attempt to escape the vicious kicks aimed at my midsection. The agony and the surprise of the savage attack made me cry out as I tried to find a way to defend myself. The fog clouding my mind cleared, and I was able to see that my tormentor was none other than the fourth gunman who had escaped into the forest during the firefight. Just our luck he'd turn up again like a bad penny.

As my eyes finally focused fully on my assailant, I heard McKay angrily curse him as he continued to kick at me.

"Get the hell away from him you filthy, homicidal maniac! He's already been shot once today. Enough is enough! Do you hear me? We are no threat to you or your freaking fellow Neanderthals. Just go back to your cave or whatever primordial swamp spawned you, and let us go in peace."

Leave it to McKay to blindly run off at the mouth without a concern to his safety. When he was in full-rant mode, he never stopped to think about how his sharp tongue could get him into trouble. It was the only time his overactive brain ceased to function in a logical manner. The guy had a gun for Christ's sake. What was McKay the Motor Mouth thinking? As usual, I had to protect him from himself and fast.

Distracted by McKay's verbal onslaught, the unhappy native turned away from his attack on my ribcage and raised his arm to point his gun directly at McKay's chest. In the split second he hesitated before firing at my friend, I drew my own weapon out of its holster, aimed it instinctively at his back, and fired. McKay had shut his eyes to block out his impending death when the shooter took aim with his weapon. As both our guns discharged, I noticed McKay involuntarily flinched at the explosive sounds. Opening his eyes, he looked around in shock, surprised to find himself still standing. If not for the seriousness of our current situation, I would have found it funny the way he patted his chest and stomach looking frantically for a mortal wound.

Gritting my teeth, I gripped my side, trying to staunch the fresh flow of blood as I continued to point my still-smoking gun at the fallen gunman. McKay first looked at his would-be killer's bloodstained back before glancing in my direction with his mouth wide-open in astonishment.

"Nobody tries to kill one of my geeks and lives to tell about it." I slurred out a weak growl. My nine millimeter dropped onto the grass as my hand went limp, and I fell back heavily to the ground beside it.

God damn it! The pain was intense. That added attack had done nothing to improve my current physical condition. Not one freaking iota. McKay rushed over to where I lay, choking and writhing in agony on the blood-strewn ground. His terrified eyes met mine as he grabbed my shoulder.

Gulping in a mouthful of air, I struggled to say something, able at last to gasp faintly. "Christ almighty, that hurt."

He called out in a fear-stricken voice. "Colonel! Are you alright? John! Hang on, I'm going to get us home. Stick with me!"

"Like glue, McKay." I choked out before dissolving into a fit of coughing. I'd be damned if he didn't call me John again. That could only mean one thing. I was in serious, serious trouble. To quote what McKay had said on numerous occasions, I was a dead man.

The prolonged bout of coughing abruptly turned into agonized retching as my stomach tried to force its way out my throat. I could taste the metallic tang of blood on my tongue as I curled up on my side, choking as I lay on the ground. McKay gently turned me over onto my back and shook me in order to keep me conscious.

"Don't you dare die on me, Sheppard. Don't. You. Dare. You even think about leaving the here and now, I will track down your sorry ass and haul it back to the land of the living! There is no galaxy in the universe where you can run and hide from the wrath of Rodney McKay. Do you hear me, John?" He gripped my arm painfully as he spoke.

Before I could respond to his pleas and threats, he suddenly stood up and slammed his hand onto the hatch controls, opening the back of the puddle jumper. Slinging his arms under mine, he half dragged, half carried me up the ramp into the rear compartment of the ship. As I fought to stay lucid, I hoped to God he'd get us back to Atlantis before it was too late.

(TBC)


	2. Fateful Flight

AN: For those who haven't already, I recommend reading Happenstance so you get the full chain of events that occur while Shep is unconscious. 

Serendipity

Chapter 2: Fateful Flight

Rodney dragged me into the puddle jumper and eased me down onto one of the side benches in the rear compartment. I was weak as a newborn kitten and still wheezing like I was having the mother of all asthma attacks. I watched groggily as he reached overhead into the storage bin and pulled out the portable oxygen tank, extra bandages, an emergency blanket, and--bless all that is holy--more painkillers. As he placed the mask over my face and released the flow of gas from the tank, I greedily sucked in the cool, life-giving oxygen.

Oh sweet relief! After the last bout with that local lowlife who wanted me dead, I just couldn't get enough air into my lungs as I labored and gasped for breath. I was willing to bet that while that inhabitant of M5J-346 was using my body for soccer practice, he succeeded in busting a rib or two. Between the bullet in my chest and the boot marks on my side, I was in dire straits. If I were still alive when we reached Atlantis, Beckett would have his work cut out for him putting my sorry butt back together. I'm not sure how he managed it, but thanks to Rodney somehow getting me back to the puddle jumper, the good doctor might still get that chance.

Since my eyelids kept drooping tiredly, I didn't immediately see that Rodney was starting an IV. On a good day, I would never have let the astrophysicist come near me if he were armed with a syringe. I was not normally a fearful man, but the sight of McKay brandishing a sharp needle pointed in my direction was enough to make me extremely nervous. Put a screwdriver or a fragile circuit board in his hand, and he was steady as a rock. But put a needle in his hand, and suddenly the man developed more tremors than a drug addict sweating it out in detox. Thankfully his doctorate was in astrophysics instead of medicine or he would have missed his true calling. If I had been feeling more like myself, there would be no way in hell I would let McKay turn me into a human pin cushion while he jabbed away in search of a vein. But since I was only semi-alert at this point, I barely flinched when I felt the pinprick against my flesh. As soon as he finished with the IV, he draped the blanket over me and tucked it around my body to ensure it stayed in place for the duration of the long flight home.

After settling me in, McKay got up and rushed forward to the cockpit and sat down in the pilot's chair. Usually this would also be something to make my blood curdle and my stomach churn. McKay was flying MY jumper without me at least riding shotgun in the co-pilot's seat. McKay. Flying. Solo. I shudder at the thought. But since I had been losing blood at an alarming rate, I doubt I had enough left in my body to curdle, and I had already tossed my cookies. So due to the nature of my injuries, I simply lay there in resignation as our resident Chuck Yeager wannabe wrestled with the controls of my aircraft.

I felt the jumper shudder and heard the engines whining in protest as McKay slammed the throttle handles back with all the finesse of an oversized bull loose in a china shop. Damn it! If I only had the energy, I would have yelled at him to handle that control stick with the same care that he would with a DeWalt. We took off at a much steeper angle than I normally would advise, given the current pilot's lack of expertise. But I decided to chalk up the rough take-off to McKay's eagerness to make haste and get us off this cursed planet.

I couldn't fault him too much when he was only trying to save my life. Well, not much. I practically bit my lip to keep from being overly critical of how he was handling the spaceship. No need to make him more nervous than he already was. But when the jumper abruptly bounced as its bottom hull brushed against the treetops while we sped away, I just had to finally say something.

"Jesus, McKay. Remind me to revoke your learner's permit." I hoped my voice was strong enough to carry to the cockpit.

Using the jumper to prune some overgrown branches along the tree line was not going to earn McKay his pilot's wings. Not if I had any say in it. Besides, last time I checked his degree stated he was an astrophysicist, not a certified tree surgeon. I heard another faint scraping sound as the fuselage again made contact with the forest canopy. Crap! This was no way to treat a jumper. Not my baby. She may not look as sleek as an F302. In fact, she looked more like the cardboard tube from a roll of toilet paper, but she handled like a dream. It was like flying a plane that read my thoughts and reacted to them instinctively with only the lightest of touches required at the controls. Not the ham-fisted, white-knuckled way McKay was gripping the joysticks.

We lurched a bit to the right as the hell-bent-flying scientist, would-be space pilot overcompensated as he tried to clear some other obstacle in our flight path. Holy shit! I wish I could fully see what was going on up there. If the bullet wound didn't kill me, McKay's questionable flying skills may as hell might.

"Ah, sorry, Colonel. Just a little unexpected crosswind. Nothing to worry about." He called back to me as if to explain his sorry excuse for a take-off.

"Crosswind my ass." I softly muttered, not sure if he heard me even though I had slipped off the oxygen mask so my voice would carry into the cockpit. Since when does a little crosswind leave bark scrapings on the edge of the windshield?

I closed my eyes after repositioning the oxygen mask, but refused to let the darkness take me a second time. Maybe some subconscious, watchdog part of me could not relinquish control--at least not with McKay piloting the jumper. Though if raw enthusiasm counted for anything, he might eventually become a fairly decent pilot. Someday. Maybe. After many, countless hours racking up flight time honing his skills and many more severely trying my patience. Fighting to stay awake, I concentrated on conserving the little energy I had left and focused on the difficult task of simply breathing in and out. In and out. I could do this. I had to. The alternative was unthinkable.

As I struggled to draw in air, I tried not to contemplate the possible damage done by the bullet as it had plowed through my body. Each inhalation grew more painfully labored and every exhalation sounded progressively wheezy and strangled. If this were what it felt like to slowly asphyxiate on your own blood, I'd rather take a clean shot to the head any day. It was a quick and relatively painless end rather than the slow, tortuous, drawn-out death I was experiencing now. Though this probably beat getting the life sucked out of you by a Wraith any day. That kind of hellish death was something I would never wish on my worst enemy!

Considering my job description and the place I now called home, I never figured I'd get to live to a ripe old age, dying peacefully in my sleep. My vocation was just too risky, every mission a crap shoot. But I would have never imagined though, I'd end up watching my life's blood spill out, choking to death after being the unwilling target of a simple village hunter with attitude. I may not be going out in the blaze of glory that most fighter pilots hoped for, but at least I had managed to keep McKay from going down with me. There was something to be said for that. At least I had saved my best friend.

To hear Rodney talk, you would think I had a big red bull's-eye painted on my back. I do admit some of the populace of the Pegasus galaxy appeared to always greet me with hostile intent, but it's not like I intentionally set myself up to be a target to test their shooting skills. I'm basically a nice guy, so I couldn't figure out why in the hell people always seemed to be gunning for me. I guess lady luck just had it in for me. Or maybe, it was just my bad karma. Maybe it was cosmic payback for all the past mistakes I had made. Mistakes that had cost others their lives.

I drifted on a sea of pain. Not fully alert to my surroundings, yet not completely oblivious either. It was like I was trapped in strange limbo between this world and the next. If there were indeed a next. I never considered myself a religious man or even a philosophical one, but I now wondered what awaited me once I stepped across the threshold of death's door. Would I simply cease to exist, finding only a black void? Or would an indefinable part of me continue on long after my body departed off the mortal coil? If there were indeed some form of afterlife, I sincerely hoped I would no longer be tormented by the ghosts of all those I failed to protect during the time I was alive.

Their faces already haunted my nightly dreams. I don't know if they condemned me for their untimely deaths. I guess it really didn't matter, because I blamed myself. If not for my screw-ups, they would all still be alive and well instead of cold and dead. They may have been gone, some for many years now, but they had never been forgotten. Not by me. Not ever. The dead don't stay buried. Not always.

Every night when I finally closed my eyes, I saw them all. Every last person that had died as a result of my actions. Some stood out in my memory more than others. I saw Mitch and Dex blown to bits when their chopper took a direct hit outside of Kabul. I was supposed to have flown that mission, but switched with them at the last minute in order to provide a military escort for some political bigwig visiting the embassy. It should have been me, not them. Not me left explaining to their families why they were coming home in body bags. Then there was that green recruit kid under my command named Havlichek that got shot in the neck when he covered my six during an ambush in the Afghani foothills. Twenty years old. He was only twenty years old--not even legal drinking age in some states. He was just a kid who had his whole frigging life ahead of him, and there he was riddled with bullets and drowning in his own blood. All because I didn't notice a Taliban rebel hiding in the shadows with an AK assault rifle.

A more recent addition to my own private and sordid menagerie of ghouls was my short-lived and former commanding officer, Colonel Marshall Sumner. Dead by my own hand. Sure, the Wraith began the process that had resulted in his death, but I was the one who provided the finishing touch. It was my bullet that finally stopped his heart. Maybe I cut short his agony when I abruptly stopped the Wraith from feeding, but in hastening his demise and by killing the hive keeper, I only succeeded in awakening all the hungry Wraith. The extensive culling activity that has since occurred on every planet of this galaxy since those life-sucking vampires came out of hibernation was a direct consequence of my actions. All those people fed upon, all those lives lost, they rested on my conscience. Mine alone. Yep, when I screw up, I do a bang up job.

Perhaps, I should have ignored Elizabeth's offer to join this expedition. If I had minded my own business and never sat in that blasted Ancient version of a La-Z-Boy, I would still be stationed at McMurdo, ferrying supplies and personnel back and forth across the Antarctic wasteland. Of course, my career would have dead-ended in the cold, snow covered continent, but at least more people in the Pegasus galaxy would still be alive. All those humans already making their home among the many planets listed in the Ancient database were not the only casualties of the latest mega-culling. Many of the scientists and soldiers that were members of the Atlantis expedition died in the city's defense during the recent siege. Some I knew very well, some I didn't. But all were my responsibility, and I had failed them miserably.

Among them was Aiden Ford, my former 2IC. An ammunitions expert in the Marine Corps, the young, eager-to-please lieutenant inherited me as a boss when his original CO, Colonel Sumner, met his untimely end. He could have easily resented me. I know Sergeant Bates did to a degree, following my orders with a slight undercurrent of annoyance. Not that I blame him. In his shoes, I might feel and act the same way. But Ford, on the other hand, took the changeover in command in stride, easily shifting his allegiance to me. His youthful exuberance, skill, and loyalty made him an asset to my flagship team. I knew I could count on him, and he never let me down. But that all changed after the Wraith came calling on Atlantis. While I was off attempting to play kamikaze bomber on the Wraith hive ship, Ford was busy defending Atlantis from the invaders. A chance encounter with a Wraith changed his life forever. Spared from a life-draining feeding by a flash grenade, Ford instead was sentenced to an existence in which an alien enzyme held dominion. Driven by his uncontrollable need to fuel his newfound super powers, my former right-hand man was now an interplanetary nomad on the run. So he technically wasn't dead, but the life he once knew was gone. Maybe forever. I was the one who did this. I had to live with this. I brought the Wraith to our door. The blood of all those destroyed by them was on my hands. And dear God, I don't know if I could ever make amends.

It's not like I didn't try. I made it not only my professional duty, but also my own personal crusade to protect everyone who walked the halls of Atlantis. No matter what sacrifices that particular quest demanded of me. Call it foolish, call it driven, call it an impossible dream if you want. I couldn't stand to lose any more friends. I had already lost too many. Enough was enough. I could not bear to witness one more person I cared about perish as a result of some action I took or did not take. No matter what, I had to keep them all safe or die trying.

As I lay there in pain-induced introspection, I felt the jumper level out and noticed the ride was much smoother. McKay must have cleared the planet's atmosphere and was now heading out into deep space on route to Atlantis. I overheard him patching through a call on the radio's subspace frequency.

"Atlantis. Come in. This is Jumper One. How do you read me?" He tried to sound calm as he actually adhered to proper air to ground communication protocols.

"Jumper One. This is Atlantis. We read you loud and clear. What is your status?" Not surprising, Elizabeth's familiar voice filtered through the console speakers as she answered his call.

"Oh, Elizabeth. Thank God you can hear me. This is Rodney. We have a medical emergency." Okay, so much for McKay sticking to protocols.

Elizabeth sounded concerned as she replied. "We copy that Jumper One. What is the nature of the emergency?"

"Sheppard's been shot. We are on route to Atlantis now. ETA in roughly three hours. Have Carson standing by!" McKay's voice was beginning to rise, as was probably his blood pressure.

"Shot? I thought M5J-346 was uninhabited. What happened? How badly is he injured?"

Even I could hear the shock in Elizabeth's voice. I was willing to bet the worry lines were already creasing her brow. I hated being the cause of her concern once again. She had enough to deal with running the city without me adding to her stress levels. She shouldered far too many burdens already.

"How do I know? I'm a PhD, not a medical doctor! I don't practice voodoo. It's bad, okay? It's bad. He's bleeding, unconscious, and in a lot of pain. That's all I know. We ran into an unexpected difficulty with the local welcoming committee. Turns out the planet was not as deserted as we thought, and they didn't like visitors. The rest will be in my report later."

McKay was revving up for a monumental rant since he thought I could not hear him. My eyes had been closed to conserve my strength when he left me, but I wasn't out for the count quite yet.

"Okay, Rodney. Just calm down. Panicking won't help the situation. I have Carson and his medical team on alert and waiting for your arrival in the jumper bay." Elizabeth appeared calm on the surface, but I knew her better than that. She was getting tense and was probably tapping her fingers against the control console. She always did that in an emergency situation.

"Sorry. You know how I react in a crisis. I tend to run off at the mouth. I am..um..just worried about Sheppard." Hell, McKay wasn't the only one who was.

"I know, Rodney. We all are. I'm going to put Dr. Beckett on the line so you can get him up to speed on the colonel's condition." There was a pause as she transferred the call over to Carson's headset.

"Rodney, it's Beckett. Can you tell me a wee bit more about Colonel Sheppard's injury? Where is the location of the gunshot wound to begin with, laddie?" His brisk brogue filled the airwaves as he came on the line.

"He was shot in the left side midway down his ribcage. I have a pressure bandage on the wound, but he's lost a lot of blood. I started an IV and administered one dose of morphine earlier. He's been conscious on and off. Right now, he's unconscious from what I can see from the pilot's seat. I also have him on oxygen, and he's covered with a blanket." I heard McKay give Beckett my medical rundown in his usual rapid-fire delivery.

"Aye, that's a right job you've done so far. Can you be telling me how his breathing is, son?"

"Ah, his breathing has been very labored and raspy. It probably didn't help that one of the local gunmen also kicked him in the ribs. Just before we made it back to the jumper, he was struggling to catch his breath to the point his lips were blue. The oxygen seems to have helped in that respect. Not much, but somewhat". His tone held a trace of self-recrimination as if he blamed himself for my current state of health.

You got that right, McKay. Air was at a premium, and I couldn't get enough. My head was spinning as I tried to take in the oxygen needed to meet the demands of my starving lungs. I heard McKay's voice grow progressively fainter until it faded away. I followed along with it, slipping back into the blessed relief of unconsciousness.

I'm not sure how long I remained out cold or how far we had traveled before I once again slowly regained consciousness. I wasn't able to stifle a groan when my nerve endings flared into full, painful alertness as I awoke. I was only dimly aware of my surroundings as I moved around listlessly. I remember seeing McKay's face suddenly appear above me, staring at me with a look of intense fear and apprehension in his eyes. He looked fuzzy at first, as if I were trying to view him through a hazy lens. Maybe I was delirious by then, because everything within my vantage point took on a dreamlike quality. I vaguely recalled thinking that I hoped McKay had remembered to engage the autopilot before he left the cockpit to come check on me. I may have been half-dead, but my pilot's instincts weren't gone yet.

He gently held me down to prevent me from thrashing around and pulling my IV loose or further injuring myself. I needed to say something and batted weakly at the oxygen mask still covering my face so I could speak more freely. McKay impatiently pushed my hand away and moved the mask aside for me. His expression spoke volumes about how awful I must have looked. If I looked anywhere near as bad as I felt, I probably gave the worrywart quite a scare.

"So cold...I'm cold, McKay...it's freezing in here. I can't get warm. Think you can turn the heat up a bit?" My teeth were chattering and I shivered uncontrollably, all my muscles quivering against the growing chill as I whispered to him.

"I'll see what I can do, Colonel." He grabbed another blanket from the overhead storage compartment and placed it over me in an effort to ward off hypothermia.

Tapping his headset, McKay immediately called Beckett to give him an update on my condition. As usual, the doctor answered almost immediately and listened as my caretaker filled him in on my rapidly declining health.

"Aye, laddie. I don't like the sound of that. The colonel is probably going into shock from blood loss, and it sounds like an infection may be starting in the wound. I'll be wanting you to start a second IV and keep him as warm as possible. You won't be able to do much else until we can get him into surgery to stop the bleeding and administer a broad-spectrum antibiotic." Carson instructed.

"I already covered him with another blanket. I'll get the second IV started in his other arm." McKay spoke into his headset.

Oh great! McKay was going to turn me into his own personal voodoo doll again. If I had the strength, I would have been sorely tempted to pop him one when I saw that needle coming my way. But this time, I didn't even have the wherewithal to flinch as the second IV port was inserted into my arm.

"Good, Rodney. Let me know if anything changes. I will see you when you arrive." Beckett said over the speaker.

After shutting off his headset, McKay changed the blood-soaked bandage on my side, then checked my pulse and readjusted the oxygen mask. As he watched my eyes flutter while I gamely tried to stay alive, he grabbed my hand and hung on to it for dear life.

"Hang in there, Colonel. We're almost home."

I murmured faintly in response. "Not going anywhere, McKay. Hope your landing's better than your take-off."

Despite the worried look in his eyes, his mouth quirked up in a smug grin as he replied. "Oh, that's very funny, Colonel. Don't give up your day job just yet to do stand-up. Unless of course, you plan on using your comedic wit as a tactic against the Wraith. Slaying them with bad humor. Yes, that might just work. But have no fear, my landing will be smooth as glass."

Well, I sure as hell hoped it would be. I didn't think I could handle a crash landing at this point. My day just did not need to get any worse. I wanted to shoot back a snappy comeback just to prove his theory wrong, but my tongue suddenly felt as if it were clogging my throat. My eyes no longer would stay open and slid closed even as I fought to stay awake. I was losing ground fast and spiraling down into an uncontrollable death spin. The darkness rushed up to meet me, and I let myself go. I felt a quick surge of pain and then nothing more.

(TBC)


	3. Brothers By Chance

Serendipity 

Chapter 3: Brothers By Chance

I was in the hazy twilight region between pain-filled wakefulness and the drug-induced depths of sleep, when I thought I heard an all too familiar sound filter into my tired brain. No, not the soft, beep-beep of one of Beckett's heart monitors. Not the quiet hiss of oxygen flowing into the plastic tubing of a nasal cannula. Not even the quick-time tapping of frenzied fingers typing on a laptop keyboard. No, the sound that came through too loud and clear to be ignored was the persistent drone of the one and only loud-mouthed McKay.

It took me a minute to realize he was actually talking to me even though I had been figuratively dead to the world. Did that man ever shut up? I couldn't even be unconscious in peace. Yep, there he was sitting by my bedside, talking his fool head off in a one-sided conversation to someone who was comatose. But I had to admit it worked. The insistent tone of his constant chatter was just the thing to pull me back from the realm of darkness into the light of consciousness. Leave it to Rodney to accomplish this. Mighty McKay, the man who would be heard.

Slowly coming awake, I did not quite make out everything that McKay was rambling about. Something about butts, needles, and haggis involved in voodoo rituals. Even for McKay's twisted mind, that combination seemed a bit...weird. Then again, maybe the drugs were messing with my head just enough that I let my own perverted imagination fill in some of the blanks. Regardless of what he actually said, the sound of his voice was enough to yank me away from blissful slumber and unceremoniously drop me back into the here and now.

My eyes fluttered open and closed as I gradually regained consciousness. I tried to say something, but a groan was the first sound that escaped my lips. A haze-rimmed face suddenly appeared next to the bed and hovered over me. As my vision finally focused, I could see sharp blue eyes checking me over with intense scrutiny before I heard that all-too-familiar voice yell for Beckett.

"McKay, is that you?" I finally managed to squeak out. My throat felt parched and scratchy, causing my voice to sound hoarse and gravelly.

"In the flesh, Colonel." McKay answered quietly. Sure, now that I was awake, he decided to speak more softly.

Rodney disappeared from my view and was quickly replaced by Carson Beckett. He flicked his ever-present penlight into my eyes, momentarily blinding me with its harsh glare. Satisfied that I still appeared to have a sense of sight, he asked me the standard round of who, what, where questions designed to test my neurological responses. At least that is what doctors told you. I think, in fact, these questions were really a form of subtle torture used to make you talk when your mouth felt like it was stuffed with cotton and your throat was as dry as a desert. If my voice were working better, I would have shouted that I knew who I was. Just get me something to drink!

"Ah, Colonel. It's good to see you awake. Do you know what happened and where you are, son?" Beckett inquired.

"Last I checked I was Lt. Colonel John Sheppard, United States Air Force. And this looks like the infirmary on Atlantis. Now can I have some water?" I tried to sound commanding, but knew my weak croak fell short in that respect.

"Good. Sorry to say, but ice chips will have to suffice for now, Colonel." The ice chips may not have been the tall, cold glass of water I really wanted, but they would do. I accepted them gratefully, letting the coldness melt in my mouth and ease the dryness of my throat.

"How are you feeling? Are you in pain?" Carson checked the drip on the IV line and wrote something down on my medical chart as he spoke.

"Chest and side hurts like a son-of-a-gun. But considering I should be dead, I can't complain." I winced when Beckett checked the dressings over my wound. Let me tell you, having drainage tubes coming out of your chest is not something I would recommend.

Beckett nodded sympathetically before he injected more of his happy drugs into the IV port. "It's to be expected after being shot and having major surgery, I'm afraid. I'll be giving you something to ease the pain and help you sleep. That should be making you feel much better, son."

"Thanks, Carson." I closed my eyes briefly as the painkiller began to take effect.

"Aye, glad to be of help. I'll let Rodney see you for a bit longer, then you need to rest. You have a lot of healing to do, and listening to this bloody fool yap his mouth off will not be conductive to doing either." He winked at McKay and patted my shoulder before he took his leave of us and departed for his office.

"Hmm, Carson has as bad a sense of humor as you do, I'm sorry to say. He just doesn't appreciate the words of true wisdom and insight that emanate from these lips." McKay gloated as he pointed to his mouth.

I just rolled my eyes in response to his glib tone. "Whatever would I do without your infinite font of knowledge, McKay?"

His hand gave a dismissive wave in the air. "Probably languish in ignorance."

"Heard somewhere that that was supposed to be bliss." I replied as I tried to find a more comfortable position.

Seeing me shift in discomfort, McKay reached over and adjusted the bed controls until I nodded in relief. "Bliss is overrated. Besides, I have seen my share of unhappy idiots. Look at Kavanaugh for instance. He is a prime example of a miserable moron if I ever saw one."

No truer words were ever spoken. "Okay, I'll agree with you there."

He nodded and crossed his arms in a typical Rodney McKay stance. "Well, you'd better plan on having a speedy convalescence. I would like to be able to get back to my lab so I can get some real work done. Who knows what havoc my underlings could be causing in my absence while I am busy playing nursemaid to you. If they blow up the lab, I am holding you responsible."

"Not to worry, McKay. Your lab rats are the least of your concerns. You're still the king when it comes to causing explosions and mass destruction." Even in a whisper, I still managed to convey a degree of sarcasm.

Waving his finger pointedly at me, he rocked back on his heels and shot back a retort. "Ah, flattery will get you nowhere, Colonel. You'll wish you had my superior knowledge of bomb building the next time you are inclined to play demolition squad with the C4. Mark my words. You'll come begging for my assistance as usual."

"Speaking of assistance, you saved my ass out there." I acknowledged his role in keeping me alive.

"More like I was the one who got you shot in the first place. If I hadn't insisted we go it alone and we had brought more military back-up, maybe those locals would not have been so eager to use us as target practice."

"Not your fault, Rodney. You didn't force me to go against my better judgment and not take a couple of marines with us into an unknown situation. I'm the military head of this expedition, and I should have known it was a bad idea. I could have gotten you killed." The more I thought about it, the more I wanted to kick myself.

"Wouldn't have happened. Not with your disturbing tendency to jump into the path of discharging firearms. You took a bullet meant for me. As much as I am grateful for your need to be a hero, could you be a little less self-sacrificing for once?" His voice cracked slightly and his eyes blinked several times as he looked away for a moment before returning my gaze.

I gave him an intense look before tilting my head back to stare at the ceiling tiles. "It's my job to protect everyone on Atlantis, McKay. It's what I do." I answered even as I thought of how often I failed to do this one simple task.

"Sometimes you take the meaning of your name too literally. The shepherd watching over your appointed flock. You're going to get yourself killed one of these days. The law of averages will catch up with you." He admonished me with a tight-lipped smirk.

"Yeah, I guess I cut it close this time. Which reminds me, it was because of you that I made it off that planet alive. Thanks for watching my back, McKay. I'm lucky to have you on my team." I weakly lifted one of my hands off the sheet and grasped his in a grateful handshake.

McKay clasped my hand back and nodded before releasing it. I let my hand drop back onto the bed and leaned my head down against the pillow as fatigue and Carson's drugs overtook me. I felt myself drift back off once again into a deep, healing sleep.

I spent the next week in the infirmary, steadily recovering from the whole ordeal of almost dying. Elizabeth, Teyla, Zelenka, and especially McKay were my most frequent visitors during my convalescence. Any time one of them was off duty, they managed to drop by to check on my progress and visit for a while. It seemed within that week, most of the expedition members, military personnel, and even a few Athosians stopped by to see me in the infirmary, much to Carson's dismay. I swear that Scot thought I would shatter like glass if I didn't get my beauty sleep. After the first couple of days of non-stop visitors, Beckett finally put his foot down and only allowed people in within a specified time of day, that is, with the exception of Elizabeth and McKay. As leader of Atlantis, Elizabeth was able to ignore normal posted visiting hours, and as for Rodney...well, since when did any of the rules ever apply to McKay?

But I didn't mind having the snarky scientist underfoot night and day. Like an old pair of worn out sneakers, he just seemed to provide a comfortable fit. After losing so many people in my life, both friends and family, I tended to isolate myself from forming close relationships. I was a loner and preferred it that way. It had worked out better for me, especially in my line of work. Or so I had thought. If I didn't let anyone in, I wouldn't get hurt when they left or when I was sent to another faraway posting. But those walls I had carefully built over the years were no match for the one-man demolition squad that is Rodney McKay. No sir. Those sturdy, strong-as-steel walls of my personal fortress came tumbling down once McKay came calling.

Never in my wildest dreams or even darkness nightmares would I ever have imagined my best friend to be a man like McKay. Hell no. He was arrogant, whiny, sarcastic to a fault, and a hypochondriac to boot. Not to mention the man was a card-carrying caffeine addict who was more at home in front of a computer keyboard than in the great outdoors, and he possessed a smart mouth that had a tendency to runneth over at the most inconvenient of times. But as I spent more time getting to know him, I saw an incredible intellect, which could make imaginative leaps of creativity and envision solutions to insurmountable problems that no one else would dare try. I saw courage under fire even when outwardly he was scared to death of his own shadow. I saw humor and heart and deep down a need to be accepted despite all his foibles. I saw a caring and loyal friend who made me strive to make something better of myself.

Yes, fate certainly did me a favor in sending him my way. On my own, I would have never picked such a man to be my friend. But the world does work in mysterious ways at times, and chance does throw us a bone now and again. Because of a random chain of events that ultimately led me here, I was lucky enough to eventually call Rodney McKay my best friend. The truest friend, a brother-by-bond if not in blood, that I could ever hope to have. He proved it time and time again. Not only when he saved my ass back on that planet a week ago, but also on a daily basis as he steadfastly held vigil by my sickbed, even after he was assured of my recovery. He stuck by me, and I vowed to always stick by him.

A couple of weeks after being released from the infirmary and on the same day Carson approved me for return to light duty, I headed purposefully down the corridor on the way to McKay's science lab. Leaning against the doorway, I poked my head into the room and saw the astrophysicist in his usual location sitting at his workbench. Between dismantling some Ancient doodad, typing notes into his palm pilot, consulting the database on his laptop, and periodically taking sips from his always-present mug of coffee, the multi-tasking, whirling dervish did not immediately notice my arrival.

"Hey, McKay! Don't you ever give it a rest?" I called out suddenly, causing the scientist to spill some coffee on the tabletop when his mug got jostled as he jumped in surprise.

"Geez, Sheppard! Don't YOU ever knock? What is it with you and sneaking up on people? Why can't you make noise when you walk like everyone else? Can't you use a little scuff of your shoes, a swish of your clothing, or a rattle of something in your pocket to announce your presence instead of moving as silently as a cat? You'll be the death of me one day. As it is, I almost got coffee on this device. Do you know what hot liquids do to Ancient circuitry?" He sputtered as he hastily wiped up the spilled beverage.

"Nice to see you too, Rodney." I teased him as I stepped into the lab. "I'll have you know stealth is a valued asset in the military."

"Ah yes, sneaking up on enemies before you kill them or scaring friends into an early grave. I can see where you would easily confuse the two." He flashed me a slight grin. "Well, it's good to see you up and about again, Colonel."

"Yeah, I was going a little stir-crazy confined to bed rest in my quarters these past two weeks. Gets a little boring after a while. Luckily, Carson gave me the go ahead to return to light duty today." I told him as I idly picked up the gizmo he had been working on and examined it.

McKay impatiently swatted my hand until I dropped the device back on the workbench. He pushed it out of my reach so I couldn't touch it again before he responded.

"That's great to hear. So instead of harassing the scientists and keeping us from the really important work around here, shouldn't you be off then doing whatever you military types do? You know, like rounding up the troops, bashing each other with sticks in the gym, or blasting inanimate objects to smithereens?" He asked absent-mindedly while jotting down more equations on his palm pilot.

"Actually, there's a valid reason I'm here. I need your help in the jumper bay. Come on, McKay. Get a move on." I said as I plucked the handheld computer out of his grasp and pulled him away from his workstation.

"Oh, for Christ sakes, Sheppard. What did you break now?" He sighed in resignation as he followed me out the door.

He muttered and bitched about the hazards of letting me roam free within the confines of the city the whole walk to the jumper bay. I barely could get a word in edgewise as he grumbled away, thinking I was dragging him on a fool's errand. Keeping my amusement to myself, I let him rant and rave in typical fashion as we approached the entryway to the vast hanger section of Atlantis.

His face was a question as I keyed the doors to open and led him over to where Jumper One was parked in the center of the room. The maintenance crews had since repaired the minor dings that had resulted from the impact with the treetops as McKay had flown in frenzied haste away from M5J-346. The scratches had been buffed and polished out of the hull, and the remnant bits of bark and leaves embedded in any crevices had been cleaned away. Draped across the front and sides of the ship was a large canvas tarp secured by a loosely tied rope.

The confused scientist looked back and forth from the puddle jumper to me. "What's this all about?"

"Well, I've been doing a lot of thinking these past few weeks since we escaped from that planet. Seems to me that you earned your wings after escaping enemy fire, piloting the jumper solo under duress, and flying us safely home. So, it is my pleasure and duty to bestow upon you, Dr. Rodney McKay, the honorary rank of Junior Airman." I explained.

I pulled a set of Air Force pilot's wings out of my pocket and pinned them to McKay's shirt, as he looked at me in open-mouthed shock.

"Now, a pilot can't be a pilot without something to fly. So, I hereby and henceforth designate the former Jumper One as your personal flight trainer, to be flown by you whenever you wish to get in some flying practice."

"I don't know what to say, Colonel. You are giving me your own jumper? I am...speechless. Thank you." He practically stuttered in awe.

"You deserve it, Rodney, my friend. Consider it my way of saying thanks for saving my life...again! Now, step this way. We have one more important piece of business to take care of." I grabbed his arm and pulled him over closer to the where the jumper stood.

"What business would that be? Is there some secret hazing ritual among Air Force pilots that I should be worried about?" He tried not to look concerned as he fingered the silver wings now proudly displayed above his heart.

"Junior Airman McKay, you should have the honors of christening your new ship." I told him as I pulled out the bottle I had stashed under my jacket and handed it to him.

He took the bottle and studied it a moment before looking back up at me with a smirk. "A bottle of Zelenka's rotgut? Why, Sheppard, I am so impressed by your choice of fine alcoholic beverages."

I shrugged back at him. "We didn't have a bottle of champagne handy, and Zelenka's home brew seemed more appropriate somehow."

"Hmm...I hate to admit it, but I'd say I'd have to agree with you. I have heard last week's batch was a very good vintage." He replied as he turned the bottle in his hand, examining its clear liquid contents.

I reached for the cord that held the tarp in place over the jumper's fuselage. "Go ahead, give 'er a whack."

As McKay swung his arm out and smashed the bottle of booze against the nose of the jumper, I gave the rope a quick tug to release the fabric covering the front and sides of the ship. It fell away revealing Jumper One's newly christened name.

McKay stood there for a moment with his arms crossed as he studied the name I had painstakingly stenciled in bright red paint on the side of the jumper just behind the front edge of the windshield. One eyebrow curved up and he tapped the tip of one index finger against his pursed lips before he spoke.

"Is that what I think it is?" He turned to me and asked after reading the name.

"Absolutely." I replied, barely containing a grin on my face as I watched his reaction to my handiwork.

"Okay. So that must make you the Lorax, right?" He inquired with a tilt of his head while pointing a finger at me.

"Why not? I guess it does in a way." I answered after considering it for a second.

"And you speak for the trees?"

"Someone has to. Might as well be me." I shrugged in reply.

"I have to say, I am not surprised by your choice in literature. Short story done in rhyme with plenty of pretty pictures to look at. Easy to understand. Yes, I'd say that Dr. Seuss is right up your alley."

"Hey, I happen to think the man was an incredibly talented author." I feigned an incensed tone.

"Speaking with a depth of knowledge of all things literary, I presume." He shot back.

"I know what I know, and I like what I like." I crossed my arms, quirked an eyebrow at him, and dared him to dispute that fact.

Nodding in agreement, McKay waved his hand and pointed back over his shoulder at the jumper. "Well, shall we take the...Once-ler out for a spin?"

"Lead the way, McKay." I put my arm out beckoning him towards his spaceship.

"So you're really going to let me fly it?" McKay still seemed genuinely surprised that he'd be allowed to actually pilot the craft.

I clapped him on the shoulder as we boarded the jumper. "Take her up. She's all yours, buddy. Just don't hit any trees this time, will ya?"

The End


End file.
